The Return of the Great John Constantine
by 1madscientist
Summary: Events ensuing after the film ends.
1. Chapter 1

[Author Note: This first-ever effort plucks my fanfic cherry, so be gentle with me. Canon basis: Constantine (2005) movie starring Keanu Reeves as the title character, picking up right where the film signed off. I'm writing it as I go along, trying to keep the plot thick like dragon's blood and consistent like Keanu's face over time. Bringing in my own working knowledge of the occult too, for added realism. Warning: I'll rate the whole thing M so I can push the boat out with the material as much as possible. My diabolically dark and kinked tastes in humour and behaviour are not for the easily offended.]

Constantine looked up at the rain that seemed to target him specifically. _Alright already, Jeez, Midnite. I'm coming- I'm coming_. The cold on his neck did make him hurry a little, though. He didn't like anything touching his neck.  
He hated the crimson glow of Papa Midnite's club, and it really was like a whorehouse in the early hours. Probably Bacchus, or some other old duffer from the Old Religion stirring up orgiastic trouble with every martini. The place smelt of sulphur, honey and a number of things he didn't wanna know about. Usual clientele in for a weeknight; the businessmen, the hot young things and those who just wanted a place to drink and maybe get a decent fuck in a bathroom stall that smelt of bleach from the number of times they'd cleaned half-breed blood out the floor. You had to give Midnite credit, to profit from such simple things. Damn, the smoke in this hellhole made him miss the vice, just for the sake of having one. Some kind of release was long overdue.  
And, drum roll please, here it came, the sea of eyes watching him, washing over his aura with intents ranging from curiosity and mild lust to restrained anger. The profusion of red should've worried him, but he was way past caring about them, it was the gold that freaked him out now. Ever since Chas had died. Plus, he kinda missed that lighter. I mean, what was Chas gonna do with it?_ I suppose it was one of those symbolic things, the kid meant a lot more to me than a trinket I picked up in Russia. Even if it was antique gold with a unique, ironclad protection spell._

He found he'd absentmindedly stopped at the bar, and some slim chick with pale skin and amber eyes gave him an expectant look. New bartender. Goddamn vampires are everywhere now... He didn't like that one bit, until she smiled at him, kindly, then he decided he'd tip her. "You got absinthe?" _I fancy a nice change._

"You got balls, mate. To be taking a hallucinogenic 'round these parts." She replied, shaking her head to the music, but mixed up one with a preternatural elegance. "The wormwood concentrations in these babies are legit."

_Hm, English, lotta those around lately too. Wonder if they're really as kinky as-_  
"You shouldn't keep him too long, Sir." She looked at him, smirking. _Mind-reader, shit._ But to call him Sir? The only people who did that recently were cops and doctors.

"If he wants to chat that bad, he'll grace me with his presence out here. Man's got a right to drink." He held it up in protest, but downed it fast like a 19th century Frenchman and made sure to leave a tip, hoping she'd remember him. He needed all the friends he could get around here. After the thing with Mammon, even some of the angels were pissed for ousting Gabriel from the Lighted. Goddamn double standards, everywhere he looked.

Constantine could sense something imposing as he approached, and shuffled unwillingly to the panel door, upholstered walls like furniture. Guess that made it soundproof. John hurried into the quiet room when a song about tight jeans and double Ds came on. Those annoying, ironic songs kept following him wherever he went. Especially those reminding him of Angela in his bathtub, panting from a Near Death Experience. He blamed demons for these tempting audio 'flukes', naturally. He wasn't going to call if she didn't first.

When Constantine stomped in sopping with rainwater, Midnite chuckled and grinned, but didn't bother looking up. That man was so pimp, Constantine almost expected to see a gold tooth. A lemon yellow snake was in, under and around his hands. New toy, and new spell, no doubt. "John... long time-no see, old friend." Midnite added, with a voice as slick and deep as tar.

"You're just surprised I'm alive. But thanks for the thought." John wasn't sure himself how sarcastic that last part was.  
"A lot of people expected you to fail John, but I assure you, I was not among them. Please," he looked up, "sit." It didn't sound like a request. He literally owned the place.  
Constantine frowned, feeling like a kid back in kindergarten. Uncomfortable, despite the red padded seat. It reminded him of strip club chairs, and he had a fleeting vision of Midnite doing a lap dance with that snake. From what he knew though, no one fucked with Midnite and - well, no one fucked with Midnite. So he didn't say anything. Probably just the frustration, welling up again._ Probably. Hopefully. Definitely._  
Midnite laughed at John's expression, and held up its focus, the snake, "Like her? From the jungle. Pure, primal power in this beauty." He kissed her, like only a shaman could, and set her down gently in a nearby wicker basket behind the desk, padded with a bright pink silk scarf. Constantine imaged him buying such items, and it made him smile. "Ah, finally!" Midnite turned to him and clapped. "The Great John Constantine is back! I had feared the Mammon incident had been the one case to finally break you."

"After all the shit that's been flung at me, I like to think I'm reinforced. 'Specially since it's killed me... how many times? Gotta be stronger, by now." Papa Midnite nodded sagely, shuffled a stack of battered Tarot cards, drew five face-down onto the green leather-topped desk, settled back into his chair and peered at Constantine knowingly from under his trilby. "How are you now, then?"

Constantine met his gaze and shrugged, "I'll live."


	2. Chapter 2

"What were you expecting, a heart-to-heart? That I'd explode with emo sentiments and talk about my-" Constantine winced, "feelings? Death and demons don't make you do that, Midnite, you know! They make you shut your damn mouth and be grateful you kept your ass alive long enough to get drunk again and forget about it."

"Is that how you're coping, then? Liquor?" He raised an eyebrow doubtfully. "Doesn't sound like coping to my ears, John, and I have lived far longer than you." He fidgeted in nostalgia, fingering a bracelet on his wrist, comprised of tiny carved skulls from gator bone.

Constantine looked away. "Look, I don't have time for this bullsh-"

"Oh! But you do, John. You've spent weeks, wasted, doing nothing, since you rescued that girl-"

"Don't bring her into this! She wasn't important." His hands gathered into loose fists.

"Important enough to make the sacrifice she craved for her sister. I run a bar, John, I hear everything." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "You did _well_. You know I cannot permit myself to act against my Oath of Neutrality, but watching you, John, is enough to give an old retiree like me hope that this world won't go to Hell once I'm gone."

Constantine snorted. He couldn't think of a reply. He didn't really _do_ hope.

After a moment of companionable silence, Midnite started patiently. "Do you want to turn over the first card?"

"What's the catch? You bring me here to pitch?"

"I do have ideas of a project you might just-"

"No, just save your breathe, cut the crap, and that do-gooder speech I can see you're planning. What happened?" Constantine glared over at him.

"No need to be hostile, John. Let us begin." And he turned over card one.


	3. Chapter 3

The worn laminate on the card didn't blur the words at the bottom: THE DEVIL.

"Tell me something I don't know." Constantine folded his arms. How many times was Midnite going to draw out the card tricks to prove a point? What was next, crystals? "I'm not a tourist, y'know."

"This one was to be expected. It wouldn't just be your lungs rotting right now if it weren't for him, however much you might hate to admit it. But how your past with Satan alters your future, now that is the question we seek an answer to. I'll put the silver for this reading on your tab." Midnite smirked. He knew he'd never pay that tab, called upon when he wanted to remind John of the favours he did for him, but Constantine was a far greater asset to him than the price of his visits in blood-alcohol percentages. That new bartender was a good investment though, most men can't be stingy with money when a pretty girl looks their way.

"And behind curtain number two", Constantine turned over the second card with impatience and threw himself back onto the chair. THE HERMIT, a figure pictured keeping in shadow. "Oh, just Fuck You Very Much, I _know _you're doing this on purpose now." He folded his arms, wondering if this would take long enough to merit another drink. But he had to humour the old witchdoctor or he wouldn't get half the information out there, on the serpentine vines of general community knowledge.

"Perhaps I am 'fucking with you', but it is just as often the person being read as their future. Not that you need telling." He received only a glare in reply. "You're grumpy and antisocial." Constantine was visibly straining not to give Midnite the finger. "But it's only because you're searching for answers, like a wise man of your mythologies." The third card. HANGED MAN. Constantine looked inquisitively at Midnite, as though daring him to use the word 'doom'. "Your morals don't match up to those of a regular person. You're feeling adrift, wondering what to do next. You'll need to sacrifice... this time of rest, to do important work."

"Here comes the pitch-"

"Not quite" Midnite spoke quietly and held up a hand to silence him, as though he were genuinely seeing _past_ the cards his eyes fixed on, which he was.

Constantine bit his tongue immediately; Midnite's prophecies were infallible. It's why he rarely gave readings, no side could have too much power, too much aid. Constantine thanked the fact that Midnite's eyes didn't roll back into his head when he prophesised: that misty eye thing looked freaky as shit, no matter how often you'd seen it. He'd just kept thinking of pool white balls. Or the moon. Or some other big white orb. Anything suitably distracting.

JUDGMENT. "Forgiveness, you will be in an impossible situation. I am so sorry to tell you, John. You'll need to forgive, something..." He still did that trailing off thing mid-sentence, but all psychics did it. Messages come in chunks, like food, or it overwhelms the system. "You cannot progress if you don't choose the path a man, frankly, better, nobler than you, would... It will heal you, you'll become stronger. Things will change, here in the community, no, things have changed, but they're being kept from us until fate... a meeting. Hospital visit? Too obvious." At this point, Constantine would usually slap the reading psychic, Intuits generally need to be brought back to earth during the deepest readings, and nothing does that quite like pain. He'd never admit to enjoying that sadistic aspect. Instead, he sent waves of disapproval he hoped Midnite's empathy would note.

TWO OF SWORDS. "Ah, finally. This ends. The decision will be made. Not by you, but the balance will tip one way after so long. This could be permanent. I do not like this, John, I fear without your involvement this will not end well, for any of us involved. All of us." He paused and frowned. "Since when has your girl been doing readings, John?" Midnite came back into the room, looking up after a small sway. Constantine could swear he saw close features of the room bend around the man as he returned. Astral bodies can alter perceptions like that, create illusions science cannot yet explain.

"My girl? You mean the woman, Angela? She doesn't read, she's a cop. She's an Intuit, sure, but... no, I'd have sensed if she was on the scene."

"Don't be so sure, it was rather clear. And you've separated yourself, body and soul, from our kind a long time now." He massaged the top of his nose, between the visible, two, eyes. "This has been a long night, John. I'll call you in about the projects soon, I promise. I just need... jerk chicken and rum." He grinned. Cue to leave. Midnite was so paranoid about poisonings he rarely ate in company.

Constantine nodded, no use trying to get blood from that rock until it was ready to squeal. He deliberately avoided walking near people or the bar on the way out, sensing their auras was too much, why he'd avoided this place since the Mammon smack down. The reminders were unwanted. He darted through the crowd in that distinctly unnatural, supernatural way, weaving with a graceful, surprisingly agile, yet precise timing that, here, thankfully, was ignored. He'd cleared the length of the relatively crowded room in a matter of seconds.


	4. Chapter 4

He'd done it again. Stayed up all night, worrying, paranoid, pacing the apartment. He watched the sun come up with a drink in hand to calm his nerves. He wasn't tired, just numbed. Constantine felt like he should be doing something, he just didn't know what. The sky turned from sapphire to violet to a reddish-orange, _same colour as Hellfire,_ until he couldn't look anymore. After all the years of nocturnal living, light burned his eyes. Light hurt him.

_Beautiful day out, shame I can never be a part of that world._

He pulled down the blinds, casting himself in a bottle green shadow and pulled down the covering security railings, leaning his head against them. It was easier to think with the cool metal on his forehead.

_Gimme a sign, what is it? What do you want me to do? What more could you possibly want from me? Is there anything else? _

Birds sang outside. Then they stopped, abruptly. Constantine listened, something else now, like a bird, like a murder of crows as one voice, but not natural. It emerged like a rasping noise, a bad omen, something dead? Trying to work the cramp out of his neck, he realised that despite the total lack of sleep, and not having done it in years, he'd have to venture out into the daylight. _Never ignore omens: it can be fatal._

Splash of cold water on the face, check he carried all vital supplies - _sure, it's daytime but just as many dangers go out in human suits_, deep breath, savouring that feeling of fresh air in clear lungs, and he was out the door.

The first five minutes were the worst. The dull headache wasn't a hangover, it was direct sunlight. Slow people held him up on the sidewalk; side-step, side-step, shove, darting to avoid the desperate vendors, but he had missed the religious fanatics. They knew something about the world he walked in, without being pained by occupancy within it. Of course, they wouldn't last two minutes in an encounter with real evil, and it made them rather sweet, like kittens hissing at a giant bloodhound.

Los Angeles, the biggest sell-out city in the world. The billboards were far more noticeable by day. Pausing to look at the usual sample, an heiress, a model, and an "actress", Constantine had to wonder just how many half-breed demons would go into the industry before people started to notice. _I mean, c'mon, the lack of morals, the bad behaviour, lustful gossip about them, the money, the undeserved fame, it's just so obvious_!

Then in his distraction, he nearly got successfully pushed into the path of an oncoming truck, but thankfully, something (probably angelic) helped him balance backward on his heels. Turning to see who'd dare push him, _What half-breed motherfucker thinks they can mess with me, and in public? _But no, it was a man. Just the regular grade hipster douchebag who didn't look up from his iPod until he'd bumped into the person ahead. Constantine shot him a dark look and the guy busied himself, hiding behind a Moleskine. _Wow, you're so original...bet there's song lyrics in there too._

_This is why I hate going out in daylight. People._

He considered taking a cab, but to where? No, this was a time to walk, something he'd learnt to enjoy since it didn't send him into coughing, near-choking spasms anymore. Readjusting his coat, then hand in his pockets, closing his eyes for a moment, sitting on a bench, he tried to tune into that rasping, that sound from earlier, and when he found it, pulled it towards himself. A kinda specific meditation. Opening his eyes, he looked around and immediately strode toward it, getting louder every block. He didn't see the people anymore, the Grey had set in. People were blurred, nondescript anthropomorphisms, and everything desaturated to a spectrum of grey. The path he'd tuned into was lit with focus, and the only colour he could see every now and then were reflective crimson lights: traffic lights and car brake lights. And you could see blood, the reason for that red exception, but there wasn't any around this time. The Grey picked up and ran on power alone.

To an outsider, he looked determined, but drugged, fast in the crowds, not quite noticeable, but odd. Meeting no one's eye and intimidating, radiating something inhumane that made you look away or forget him easily.

It could have been a dozen blocks; it could have been a few dozen. Compelled by the power that drove him, he couldn't tell. He'd stopped though, outside a skyscraper with an abstract, tacky water fountain. The Grey subsided. Colour seeped back into Constantine's surroundings. He stood there, still, calm, waiting for something to happen. The noise of the square returned, the air felt thick and static again.

And Balthazar stepped out of a silver car.


	5. Chapter 5

Balthazar, feeling eyes upon him, turned to see whom it was, and when he saw it was John, he smirked and winked, before disappearing quickly into the building with a swagger and a really nice briefcase.

"That son-of-a-bitch **survived**?" A passing old lady gave him a look of nervous disapproval at the outburst. "Sorry" he mumbled, and strode up to the front. A golden plaque read: "COLE DELL INC. Solicitations, Advertising & Media Division."

"Johnnn..." came Balthazar's taunting voice, swirling around his head confusingly. Simple half-breed mindfuck trick.

Going by the clientèle entering and exiting, it was a classy dig. The women were coiffed and powdered, and so were the men. It was going to be tricky to get in. The best approach was to radiate nondescript nonchalance. Straining to push that pulsating artificial aura beyond his natural, current one of anger, he pushed his way into the revolving doors, which almost carried him right back outside when he tried to enter. Was that just chance? He passed the distracted secretary, young male, ambitiously dressed in a suit and out of his depth with work. The lift stopped as he arrived, two half-breed demons and three humans stepped out. The demons passed him without recognition, perhaps for the naivety of their clients. In the lift, he had no idea which button to press. Reflecting on Balthazar's seeming cockiness, he opted for the loopy P, plotting to scribble '–enis' the next time he had a marker on his person. The small screen asked for a password. Constantine tried 1234. 4321, going down? 0616, true number of The Beast? The lift jarred,, screeching, and opened. Security guards, relishing the opportunity, as burly demon half-breeds, looked as though they'd been given a John-shaped present, wrapped in a fleshy, pain-sensitive, pink bow.

And so, Constantine was dragged out and thrown onto the side walk. Some things never change. At least they didn't try to fight him, since it was broad daylight.

Brushing himself off, he looked around the exterior of the building. Sure enough, a fire escape was there. _Bingo._ Grabbing a piece of discarded steel pipe (left over from yet-another hastily abandoned LA building scheme), he pulled down the ladder as quietly as two pieces of metal clashing could be.

This time, he took the stairs.

13 floors up (son-of-a-bitch architect must've been a demon too), a slightly panty Constantine, after picking the lock to the hallway, noticed a dramatic change in decor. About a hundred times more expensive than regular, white-collar law firms. Reminded him of the office of Satan in Devil's Advocate, at least in the ostentatious stakes. Ambiguous-sexuality, abstractly floral wallpaper with gold leaf, alabaster statues in the nude, writhing in a mingled pain/pleasure state, _yeah, pretty sure this is the place._

And one solitary mahogany door at the end.

"17 minutes, 23 seconds." Balthazar sighed, his back to Constantine. Turning, opening his arms wide in welcome, he laughed. "Naughty-naughty! Did you miss me _that_ much?"

"I heard you'd been smoked."

"Non, non, Johnny," he chuckled at the memory, "mild punishment, but swift reprieve. No demotion as such, as you see, I just stay in-line this time. Doing what I do best for my side: tempting humans. To sue, to buy, to think... anything." He seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, stifling an uncharacteristic giggle. "Speaking of which, I just got you to trespass. Excellente, mon frère!"

"We're not brothers, in anything." _Let the prick rant, he might say something valuable._

"Of course we are, we're in Satan's Burn Book! You break any big rules and the consequences will be, mm... deliciously deadly. You disappointed, y'know, with that-" he motioned his hands together for the millisecond it was bearable, "holier-than-thou act, for the Suicide. It would have been better, smarter, to bring back your boy-toy, oh," he clicked his fingers, "that bitch you kept, trailed around you all the time?"

Constantine channelled his anger into his fists. _Not yet, and murder would be exactly what he wants._

"Anyway, it really got me on a downer, Johnny-boy, see, I was promised your carcass," he hissed, "supervision over your torture, had Mammon crossed over. I was so looking forward to the fun! Sucking the juices from your extremities, the blood from the veins, the marrow from the bones, over", he stepped closer, "and over, forever. The fallen, broken John Constantine: for my very own, the flavour of my month. Every month." He smiled sweetly, sincerely. It was unnerving. Like Wednesday Addams in a pinstripe suit. And was it just his imagination, or was he coming onto him? Balthazar had closed the gap to only a few inches whilst talking, he could smell the bastard's cologne half-masking the natural demonic scent.

"You half-breed fuck." _Good ol' standby. Don't give in, don't fuel it._

"Oh, ...do you want one?" Balthazar looked up at him from under freakishly long eyelashes.

_Is that mascara? Fuck, he's coming onto me, what do I do? He's never outright asked or offered- or shit, fuck, what do I-_

"Are you serious?" he blurted. Blurting was never good around half-breeds.

"-As cancer." Balthazar quipped back speedily, and leaned in, after glancing at Constantine's chest for a lingering moment.

Not knowing what to respond, _I mean, agreement is totally out of the question, unprofessional, but, why haven't I said no by now? Is this a spell? No, I'd know if it was a spell..._ Balthazar was watching him quietly, patiently. Like a snake.

"Why _are _so many half-breeds bi?" It was all he could think of. He'd never met more than a handful with attractions one-way. Genuine curiosity seeped through all reason.

"Twice the fun. Wanna see?" Balthazar pushed his green, speckled aura forward tentatively, a psychic probe, and just grazed the front of Constantine's shield, a challenge. Constantine reacted immediately, and got incredibly defensive, his shield redoubling its efforts and pushing Balthazar's back.

"Rain check." He turned and half-ran to the only exiting door. "Acid rain."


	6. Chapter 6

Slamming the door of his apartment behind him, he trudged over to the bed and fell on it, face-first, with his arms out to the side. "I just want this day to be over" he mumbled into the sheets, a prayer of a kind.

He slept disturbed that night, a nightmare of phones ringing for his death, and the Grim Reaper prompting he answer from shadow. God-damned spirits whispering again.

He woke up in the early hours. At 6am, the early riser, in a drowsy yet vigilant state. After making a quick breakfast of scrambled egg, while sipping his orange juice and vodka, he noticed a flashing red light on his answer machine.

"You have –one- new message. Message one, received at 3:55p.m., *beep* "Good afternoon, Mr Constantine, this is Sally from Dr Archer's clinic. Your appointment's been brought forward to tomorrow in light of your latest scan results. You're pencilled in for 10am, _please_ try to attend this time. If you cannot make this new time, please contact me immediately on-", *beep* Message deleted. You have –no- new messages."

_Must be important for her to drag it ahead like this. Better go._

As part of a sickly curious aspect of his personality, he decided to leave early, look around the hospital for the first time since the hydrotherapy area went to Hell. He'd been in-and-out for the scan so quickly the other week and he'd barely considered it before.

The building Isabel had jumped from was ominous even in LA sunlight, an obelisk coldly dominating the skyline. He got a flashback, or vision into, how that building looked like in Hell.

The bright light of the building below, _for people who weren't crazy_, Constantine smiled to himself, reminded him tauntingly of Heaven, only a decidedly more clinical variant. This time of morning the place was almost deserted, appointments here didn't start until 9am. Knowing he wouldn't be disturbed, he strode down the halls, winked at a cute nurse that passed and skidded to a halt outside the hydrotherapy room. They'd installed a security panel. What is it with people in this town and these security panels? Pacing around the area, irritated, there was a small, unassuming door labelled SUPPLIES. Walking in, past the pink floatation tubes and behind a wall of lockers, Constantine found another door. There was always another door.

Y_ou'd never know what'd gone down in here. _Everything was rebuilt, shiny and white. No blood in the tiles, no bodies on the floor and no scum-bags in the pool. Humans were always like that, he observed, cleaning and hiding whatever is dark, hoping it'll go away. It never does, just learns to hide better next time. Religion helps us avoid the monstrosities of the world, but without that, scarily, the monsters still exist. That is why religion has prevailed. Their order brings calm to the chaos. When he left the room this time, after sitting by the pool for a long time, he didn't have to worry about treading in glass.

Sitting outside a Doctor's office. Trashy magazines, useless secretaries painting their nails and people doomed to die clogging up the atmosphere. Like black ink in the air around them, especially about the shoulders, like a cloak of death. It wasn't anything special, that Death Sense, even cats could do it.

"Sit down, John."

Dr Archer turned from the coffee she was tending. "What did you do?" she asked quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Drug trials or something else? Voodoo?"

"What? No and no. What did the scans say?"

Fumbling with the red plastic envelope she rammed the two images somewhat angrily into the projector clip. "That's what" she pointed, "you don't need to be a doctor to see that those lungs are fucking **clean**." She flicked the scans. "Goddamn you John, they're even pure. Not a mark on 'em. Like a child's. And your new form says you've given up smoking? How the hell did all this happen? How do I explain this? Can you explain it for me? Fill in my paperwork? Because I have no idea what to say."

"It's a miracle." He quipped, but stepped up to the pictures, so close his nose almost touched them. "I daren't believe it before but... it's really gone, hasn't it?"

"Completely gone. 100% clean. I checked four times, they got the right scans, J. Constantine, correct date. Full, complete remission. Question is, how?"

"Deal with the Devil. Sorta. He fixed me, hoping I'd fuck up this new chance. A last chance."

"Yeah, you're lucky. Haha, one lucky son of a gun." She sat down, massaging her temples.

He spent the rest of the appointment checking and memorising the fake story she'd use to file this and sign it off.

After a quick lunch in the cafeteria, which tasted better since the prognosis was " a long, healthy life", he looked at the front page of a paper whilst sipping his cappuccino. _Influence, a resurgence of it. Is this the level Midnite was talking about?_ Politicians previously unpopular, win in landslides, brutal crimes bleeding and leading on the front page, like entertainment. Definite demonic influence. It was then he smelt perfume, no, not literally, a sense, the smell of Angela's apartment, of Angela. Was she here? Close by? Constantine stood behind a pillar in the foyer, and watched discreetly as she checked in at the desk, asking for directions. Whilst she was distracted, he slipped out of the entrance door behind her. _Too soon._


	7. Chapter 7

Taking off his coat and throwing it over a dining table chair, John loosened his tie as he expected the usual sales calls in his answer phone messages.

"You have –three- new message. Message one, received at 12:04p.m., *beep.*"

"JOHNATHAN ISAIAH CONSTANTINE!" He flinched at the anger in Angela's tone and mention of _that_ middle name, "how DARE YOU sneakily, treacherously HIDE from ME, in a public place!" She became husky when she ranted like this, there was a part of him that liked it. "Did you seriously think-" *beep* Message two, received at 12:05p.m., *beep* "Did you seriously think I couldn't look you up on the system and find your number! Ooh, were you wrong, Mister! Not only have you left no word since that little parting on the rooftop, but now you've sunk so low as to crawl like a rat, to avoid me? You have no RIGHT to avoid ME!" *beep* Message three, received at 12:19p.m., *beep* "Look, John, I'm sorry, I just... why would you do that to me? Why?" she seemed calmer, "You're one of the few people that know what happened and that I'm _not_ crazy which _believe me,_ I find hard to believe at times. You have to explain this ...transition, John. Please, call me back. I need a drink and a friendly face." *beep* "End of messages. You have –no- new messages."

He stared at the machine incredulously as though it were about to act on her anger, jump up and bite him. _Fuck it, might as well admit I've been caught._

He wandered over to a drawer by his bedside and took out her business card, turned it over in his fingers, considering, and then begrudgingly slowly, dialled the number. _Time to face the music eventually._

"Dodson." Professional, she must be at work.

"...Hey."

"OH! Hey! Er, about the messages..."

"Don't worry about it, I've done worse myself." He really wasn't kidding.

She laughed, it made him smile just a little. He'd missed that laugh, that humour.

"So, how 'bout it? Wanna go for drinks later?"

"Detective Dodson? Are you asking me, John Constantine, enemy of the LAPD, out for a drink?" He hoped she could hear the sarcasm, he was _trying_ to inject some normality into the conversation. Too much of the serious talk made him nervous.

"Erm, well, ah, no" his face fell, he was glad she couldn't see, "I mean, er, it would be _nice _to see you again but I couldn't ask you out, it, it just wouldn't be erm, professional..." she trailed off from her uncertain words, hanging on for his reply.

"Humph, whatever." He shrugged, although she couldn't see, "When and where?"

"9 tonight at Midnite's?" her voice raised, she was nervous.

"Sure. See you then." He put the phone down on her. _It was for her own good. She was at work anyway, they couldn't discuss anything big._ _Pervert, get that mental picture out, I meant big as in... supernatural, apocalypse action. Maybe action was a poor choice of words, too. God, I need to get laid._


	8. Chapter 8

_So I'm late. No big deal. She can handle herself, right?_

His pace quickened when he remembered it was a Friday. Midnite's was always rowdier on Fridays. Crossing the road, he remembered his last conversation there, with Chas. _He put down the books alright, all 'cept the Bible. Real peace comes with the True Death. _He got clipped by a Volvo from Washington, and flipped off the speeding driver going way above the speed limit. _Chas can't possibly find any peace up here, like me I guess, especially with all this noise!_

The noise didn't fail to subside in the club. The new bouncer at the door was an improvement on the last too, a laidback kid that looked like a college football player, with neutral loyalties and pale blue-toned wings. After that holy water experiment in the hospital Midnite must've had to recruit a lot of fresh blood. At least the music tonight was more bearable, a hard rock with 80s sounding electronica spouting pretentious lyrics about reality and dancing in the dark.

Extending his mildly psychic aura, he found Angela with next to no problem. Until he saw she had company. _Always some form of problem, with every little thing. It never gets easier._

"Get the hell outta my seat, half- wait, what are you exactly now?"

"I hoped your last brush with death would tone down the dramatics, John. I'm only human now. See for yourself."

He looked at her directly with his Sight, the smiling Gabriel in his chair looked almost pained when his eyes moved to the ghostly wing nubs. He snorted, the sound lost in the club's noise. _Yeah you should be ashamed. _"It's less than you deserve. Crazy bitch."

"John?" Angela timidly smiled, "I don't want any trouble. It's a club. Let her stay if she wants."

"I'm not even sure that's a woman under there." Constantine eyed Gabriel's outfit with suspicion, there was no definite male-female indicator, a midnight blue shirt and matching straight cut jeans. Hardly helpful. A gold cross with large diamonds glittered from the only exposed part of chest. Someone was going up in the world, this world.

"Go ahead, judge me. Perhaps you'd like to feel for yourself, be _quite_ certain." Gabriel, in a surreal gesture, grabbed at her own chest with both hands. Passing cops whistled. It did indeed appear as though she were female. _Shit, now I can't hit her. Woman and human._

"I'd rather feel around in a bathtub of used needles." _Not a bad body on her though, just subtle._"Why the female preference?" He nodded at the meat suit.

"Oh, the last human I touched", she looked at Angela, "determined it, I believe. I like it. Skirts are breezy, just like the old robes." She looked wistfully upward.

Constantine angled his head around the former angel to see Angela, "Want me to get rid of her? I thought you wanted to talk in private."

"I don't mind. We're on… speaking terms, by now. Who do you think got her fake paperwork when she popped into human existence?" She looked hot when she was sarcastic, a little cock of the eyebrow, fingers drumming on the tabletop.

So he dragged up a chair between Angela and Gabriel. _Never thought this would happen…_

It was uncomfortable, sitting at a table with the source of all that trouble. Especially since Constantine couldn't think of a good enough excuse to hurt her.

"You are aware this …woman, is the same thing that wanted you to be a steamed tear-open Mammon incubator, and drove your sister to suicide?"

"How dare you!" Gabriel slammed a hand on the table and rose up, not as tall without the wings. "Isabel was driven to it by demons, I never even met the poor girl!"

"Yeah, like I believe that. Do you really swallow this, Ange?" He swooped up to Gabriel's level and met her stare.

"She seems to be telling the truth John, from what I could dig up …" she looked at her hands, emanating emotional pain, "Isabel was picked at random, just the closest at hand, and if she'd met an angel, I'd have heard about it. She told me everything."

Growling about lousy half-breed morals, he settled back into his chair. Gabriel copied him and was no longer smiling. That blank look, dead behind the eyes, that singled out the inhuman were fixed on him unwaveringly. A shadow he knew was no illusion passed over Gabriel's aura, especially over her face. _Defensive. She should be._

"I need a drink. Angela, what are you having?" Constantine strode up to the bar at the Coke request and brought back their two drinks, hoping Gabriel would get the message. Instead, she'd cosied up to the new, female bartender, grinning and flirting, pawing at the bartender's necklace, and returned after a few minutes with a clear red drink in a tall glass that she didn't pay for. Constantine never wanted to have to see that sight again. Thinking of Gabriel as a sexual being was enough to put him off Angela's company at this rate.

After the initial silence of former friends at a table, Angela started.

"As you might have guessed, a lot's happened since you stepped down, John."

"I didn't step down, I just took some time off. What are you doing here, in this game, why do readings for people?"

"I don't. Just for myself. Searching for Isabel, but I can't seem to track her. I just want to know that she's okay."

"She's in Heaven now, you know."

Angela's eyes lit up. She beamed. "Really? Gabriel said so but I wasn't sure." Gabriel made a _hmph_ sound at being disrespected. John couldn't help but like Angela more for prompting it. "Hang on, how do you know?"

"Er, well, the Devil told me. Part of trying to prevent Gabriel here" he thumbed in her direction, "from destroying the world. A reward." It wasn't a lie, the Devil did confirm it. Just an omission of Constantine's involvement that Angela didn't need to know. Unlike Gabriel's sort, he didn't wanna blow his own trumpet. Needed to uphold his old reputation. Can't do that when you're perceived as self-sacrificing. "And my help at stopping it means I'm a shoe-in for the big bright light in the sky too." _I almost believed myself, with that one._

"That's great! But wait, now you've got your ticket to the light, does that mean you're gonna stop being er, whatever you are? And get a normal job? 'Cos I need a guy on side at work and if you want-"

"Hold up, that's a nice thought, but I don't think I'd be able to leave. There's no get-out clause when you can See, you know that. I told you myself. This kinda life isn't a path, as such, it's a merry-go-round, confusing and neverending, it seems. I'm hoping to get back in the game, actually." Gabriel looked surprised for the first time that evening. "And it's not as though I can do much else is it? I'm too damaged to be anything respectable, like a cop. Too many years in the game has wrecked me and the way I relate to humans. Could you imagine? John Constantine: with a flourishing, normal career as a bagging boy at the supermarket. I don't need to serve demons cured hams; I need to serve their asses on a one-way train back to Hell."

A sardonic voice announced another unwanted presence. "Be careful there, you don't want to burn out. John Constantine, nice and crispy 'round the edges."

Constantine wheeled round, out of the chair and grabbed Balthazar by the collar. "Who asked for _your_ opinion?"

"It is generally highly sought after."

"There's nothing high and mighty about you. Get outta my sight before I-"

"What? You can't hurt me in here, Johnny. And our last parting was such sweet sorrow. Left me tingling with anticipation, your answers."

"Answers to what, John? Who is this?" Angela looked bemused at Balthazar, she could see the wings, the demonic aspect, but had, for the most part, stayed in the car. Never met him before.

Angling sharply out of Constantine's grip, Balthazar dropped to a bow and kissed her hand. She made a disgusted sound and pulled away. Constantine laughed and Balthazar sneered over. "Balthazar C. Stone. Just Balthazar to you, gorgeous."

"Aka, Angela, the guy who made your twin sister jump."

"I thought I recognized you from somewhere!" Balthazar excitedly peered at her with interest. A short-lived interest.

As Angela threw her coke in his face.

Being a cop, her aim was perfect. A small flurry of applause from onlookers arose.

Constantine had never felt more proud of her. Until she slapped him. With all her strength. _I think I love this woman._

Recovering from the smack with the ease of someone with practice at such things, Balthazar's eyes glowed as much as his cheek, his voice lowered. "She was so damaged, your sister. All you need to do with fucked-up psychos, all I did with her, was to tell the truth. She'd have done it anyway, sooner or later. I didn't want her to, for the record, quite a spanner in the works that crazed girl, eliminating the target from her own back like that."

Thankfully, Balthazar left straight away, mocked on the way out by other customers who saw the incident, even other demons. Constantine wasn't the only one offering to buy Angela another drink, after that performance.


	9. Chapter 9

"Shouldn't have expected any better from that whore he's entertaining" mumbled Balthazar in his car. "That club's supposed to be neutral, didn't that pouty cow get the memo?" He dabbed at his face with the pocket square delicately and frowned out of the window.

_As though it's a crime, to try and get his attention. He's all I've got left now. Why else did he think I didn't fight back, when he was shooting at me? _He got a flashback of the event, only a few months ago, but a happier time. _Most demons would've thrown him off, across the room, for trying to deport them. Didn't he realise I was happy that he was straddling me on the table? Even with a Bible in one hand, kinda kinky... what a pretty picture John made, angry and passionate. That boy will be mine._

Except just now, he'd been publicly humiliated by his new bitch. The last one was enough of a threat. But one he had personally eliminated. Let him think it was Gabriel's idea to squish that kid like a fly against the ceiling. Let him think whatever he wanted: he would see sense soon enough.

_Even my fellow demons were taunting me in there. I need a new plan. Regain some respect._

Balthazar stepped out at his apartment, a plan already formulating in that Machiavellian mind of his.

He took out a sleek black enamel athame, and out sprung a gold blade. He placed the knife in his mouth and sucked on it, then spat the blood into his right hand.

Welling the demonic blood into one cupped hand, he used the energy allure as a sacrifice, to summon, through the other hand.

"Time to play with fire" he grinned as a great, bright form manifested before him.

[Author's Note: I realise how uncharacteristically short this is, but I am mid-revision for some truly evil examinations I'm not even sure I'll pass. I swear the Devil must've invented neuroscience. Am on temporary break from writing until the end of May, this was just a taster to show you which direction I'm going into.]


	10. Chapter 10

"You seem to have an admirer, John." Gabriel mentioned quietly at the bar, when Constantine went to get another round.

"What are you talking about?"

"You don't notice, how much he worships you? Why else follow you around?"

"If you mean who I _think _you mean-"

"Be careful of that one. Balthazar is a very old soul and the only reason I used him was because he let me."

"He won't hurt me. He wouldn't dare try."

"Ah John, you self-centred fool, it's not you I'm concerned for. Do you really think Angela could hold her own against him, especially after that display? A demon's only as good as his reputation."

"Why the sudden concern with human affairs? And what do the cares of a demon mean to you, now you're fallible. Breakable. Poke-able." He poked her arm in an irritating way and smiled smugly.

"Impressive though the stories may be about you, I know you better. You seem to rise with each fall, but I do not mistake you for a Phoenix. You are but a man. A man that nearly got killed by dairy products."

"That was once!" he slammed his hand on the bar. "They didn't warn me those antidepressants make cheese toxic."

Gabriel laughed lightly, looking John up and down. "You humans, always trying to fix things that aren't broken. Learn to appreciate the damage, for God's sake!" She took a small coin in change from the bartender and fiddled with it, turning the copper over in her fingers. Angels, even former angels it appears, love copper. Manipulating it in such a simple way is a basic energy gathering and focusing rite. She looked up at John, and used the energy to See him, with an Angel's eyes. "To the elder ones, like myself, you're no more than a boy. In your case, Peter Pan, perhaps..."

Constantine snorted. "Don't judge a book by its cover."

"I know, I know, Young One, Son. You've yet to learn the lessons this lifetime has to offer. Your place in this community affords you some benefits. I wonder why Angela hasn't asked after your appearance?"

"What do you mean?"

"Some occultists," she looked at him accusingly, "seek to defy the ageing process, by drawing on the residual ether of the living. Somewhat vampiric, wouldn't you agree?"

"Says the one with the worryingly crimson drink."

"This?" Nails chimed against glass. "Oh, strawberry squash." She narrowed keen hawk-like eyes as Constantine laughed at her, head thrown back and neck stupidly exposed.

"That's just precious!"

"You know some angels prefer to abstain from alcohol, drugs-"

"-Fun?"

"Strawberries are like the _taste_ of Heaven to me, John. You can't mock me for wanting that sweet flavour again." Gabriel sauntered off to a different table on the other side of the room, behind a partition, leaving Constantine with the impression he'd hit a raw, exposed nerve.

Looking over at Angela's reassuringly human anxiety around so many supernatural creatures, he pushed it from his mind and returned to her, triumphantly presenting new drinks.

"Welcome to my world" he began, standing with hands perched on the table edge. "Lesson one" he signed the number "of bar etiquette: don't stare. Some of these guys have claws and a taste for eye goo."


	11. Chapter 11

"I really appreciate this. Teaching me the ropes."

"No problem Angela. It might save your life some day." _If I'm not there to do it personally._

An awkward standoff ensued. Angela looked up and down the corridor and broke first.

"Would you like to come in for coffee?" She looked shyly up from a curtain of shiny darkness. _Is she using a new conditioner? Do I say something?_

"Coffee would be great." _Take your hands out of your pockets, she'll think you're up to no good. Am I?_A slight grin, a breathed laugh. _Always. _

Her parted lips formed a pleasant smile and she casually unlocked the door.

"It's a bit cluttered, I've been meaning to go through everything..." She folded her arms, expecting criticism.

"My place is worse, really." '_Cept I don't have a "crazy-wall" of paranormal stuff. She even used red wool to connect the pins, like in the movies. How cute. _Constantine took his jacket off and looked for a place to put it, glancing up at the altogether new sound of a giggle from Angela. "What?"

" You fold your clothes."

"So?"

"Just unexpected."

He frowned and sat down with a faux grumpiness. People always had to compare him to what was normal, or what was right. _Who sets up those rules anyhow?_

"I hope we can be good friends again" Angela admitted after empty small talk.

"Hmph. I thought we were. But if you're going down that route, I'm far too sober for that conversation." He took out a flask and tapped it to his coffee cup. Again. And again. When it was empty, which didn't take long, a repetitive clinking filled the apartment. He looked up to see her blank and vaguely confused. "Sorry." He downed the entire cup in one long go.

"That can't be good for you."

"The things we want rarely are."

"So now your lungs are fine you're going to start on your liver?"

"Are you trying to tell me what to do?"

"No. I'm not stupid. I'm trying to figure you out."

"Good luck. Shrinks and-" he air-quoted, "_divinity_, have been doing that for a long time. Trying to find me, figure me out and break me."

"Do you hide?" she asked, wide-eyed and curious, lower lip jutting out appealingly.

He sat back on the couch, surprised she had asked.

"I mean it sounds reasonable that a person would hide" she tried to clarify, pursing those lips.

"You choose your battles. Sometimes, especially as a human, you need to take some time to heal, to plan, to prepare." He grinned, and sang "only fools... rush in..."

She laughed, closing her eyes momentarily and raising her shoulders like she always did when she laughed. "If it's singing we'll be doing, then _I'm_ the one who needs a stiffer drink." She sauntered to a small dark wood cabinet and poured herself some red wine. Winking over at him, she downed that glassful in one and poured herself another. Walking over to the couch with the bottle in one hand and glass in another she leaned over him, stopping inches short of John's face. "Can I tempt you?" She began teasingly and finished seriously.

They saw one another differently. Psychic to psychic. Man to woman, woman to man. Lust clashing in a met-held look. John crossed the divide, the air perfumed with tension and his lips found soft new playmates in hers. No urgency, a languid play of pink warmth.

He heard her put down the bottle and felt a slight pull as she gently placed her glass on the table. Then her hands went straight to his neck, the fingertips in his hair. At this, he pulled her closely, held her tightly until she made a noise of urgency. He eased somewhat, broke the bond of their lips and whispered "Bedroom."

She changed the momentum, gravitating towards a door behind her. John nearly tripped as she silently slipped her shoes off into his path, but neither of them cared, even enough to laugh. He took the reminder to slip off his own, beginning to unbutton her shirt and slipping the linen off the fine curves of her shoulders. When he met resistance in the slow dance as flesh met architecture, he pushed her against the door and slightly up, held her there firmly by the wrists.

She moved a leg, initially brushing John's thigh, he growled until she pushed the door handle downward with her knee. John caught her before she fell onto the floor and carried her to the bed, slowly lowering her. He deftly kissed her neck, quickly removing his socks with one hand while she pulled at his tie.

"John" she whispered.

She was far noisier, later.


	12. Chapter 12

Constantine hissed as the daylight hit his eyes, rolled over and found somebody lying next to him. Immediately reaching for a vial of holy water in his inside right pocket, he realised he didn't have it. Or the jacket. Or any clothes. Full stop.

After a miniature seizure freak-out at the idea of lying prone and defenceless next to God knows what, he saw it was Angela. He huffed, relieved. At least, his cynicism told him, it _looked _like Angela. Looking around a strangely tidy room were it not for spread out piles of cloth, he saw a small black leather-bound Bible. _Come to me_, he thought, stretching his hand out and willing the tome to fly toward him, though not too fast. A vision of a speeding Bible hitting his face spontaneously erupted in his Mind's Eye. Nothing happened to the real book for all his visible telekinetic straining. He slumped. Why is it he could visit demons, all kinds of scum, and not even get one useful power in the bargain? God must work in mysterious ways. _No fun._

Peering over the shoulder he now had flashbacks of paying close attention to last night, he decided to make the risky naked 2m sprint. _Success!_ Crouching behind the side of the mattress opposite her, he whispered a few randomly selected passages, glancing up after each. Nothing happened.

_Hmph. _He threw it on the side table_. At least I got laid. Human, for the first time in... oh God, that's depressing. Maybe this could become a regular thing. _He couldn't imagine himself a 2.2 kid Chrysler driver with a mortgage and family-photographed Christmas cards. Never going to happen. _Steady drip of sex. Not too regular. Doing this again would be nice._

He foraged for gum, and chewing it, proudly surveyed a rare sight. _There's a beautiful woman, who might actually like me. She had sex with me, that says something, right? _Remembering how gross he tends to smell on any given morning, he tiptoed politely covering his modesty with the opened police badge at hand and showered.

_She must've consecrated the place._ Constantine didn't hear a peep from the walls, the air, the radio remained blessedly silent.

Eyeing the bounty of candles around the bath and remembering how she broke his, he quickly borrowed a small amount of skin cleanser that promised to make him "kissable". _Worth a shot._ A minor incident where his eyes felt like they were burning was soon conveniently forgotten. _John Constantine doesn't care, not one bit. James Bond wouldn't care. I'm like that guy. Except the Government doesn't employ me. And actively hates me. Maybe if this stinging pain doesn't go away the Emergency Room would be a good idea. _Five minutes of eyeball water dowsing fixed it, not the kind of dowsing he was used to seeing.

Wrapping a towel around his lower half and leaving his hair slightly messed as he couldn't decide whether smart or messy was the best look, and he stepped back into the room with a new found bravado.

Angela was sitting up, smiling at him. "Morning."

"Morning. You ok?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Sounded like you had some trouble in there." She thumbed at the bathroom.

"No. I was er, singing."

"Whatever" she said, throwing away the bedsheets "I was worried you'd take all day in there." As she walked past him naked he initially looked away like a gentleman. Upon remembering he has never been a gentleman he got in a cheeky peek before she shut the door on him. And locked it. A part of him resented the insinuation.

"Breakfast in five?" she called out.

"Yeah!" he called back. He heard a shower switch on. Trying to make a good impression he arranged her clothes in a pile at the end of her bed, and put his own back on, which felt fresher on clean skin.

Walking through the living room, he was detoured by a surprise leg-rub attack from a pouncing silvery ball of fur. "Duck" he nodded down at the cat. It looked up wide-eyed at him in recognition and meowed.

"I don't speak cat."

"Meow."

"I _still_ don't speak cat. Latin yes, Cat no."

Duck resumed the leg-rubbing. Constantine looked down blankly. Duck scratched his leg.

"Ouch! Little monster! What? What do you want from me?"

"Food usually helps" came Angela's voice from the bedroom behind. Wearing a chemise and leaning on the doorframe. "Breakfast all round?"

"That'd be great, thanks."

She seemed to float to the kitchen, pecking him on the cheek as she went. Duck glared at John, narrowing its eyes accusingly.

"What?" He walked on, ignoring the cat.


	13. Chapter 13

Angela walked over to a cupboard, took out some instant coffee and switched on the kettle.

"Oh, or would you prefer tea?"

"Nope, coffee's great."

She fed Duck, who ignored Constantine as he walked past.

Angela took off the kettle from the stove before the shrill screech got too loud.

"Why did you do that, Angela?"

"Hm?"

"The kettle. You could've left it for a while longer."

"I don't like the sound."

Constantine gave her a wry smile.

"What?"

"The molecular combination of intense heat and the occult properties of water make steam a viable source of what I like to call demon EVP."

"That's demons." Angela looked down at him suspicious and pointed to the kettle.

"Well it's not electronic, but the voice phenomena part, yeah. They can't do anything from there except open a channel just big enough to let sound through."

Angela turned away from him and began pouring. "Well that's fucking creepy" she said matter of fact.

"Not really. The world is very strange if you pay attention. There's a guy actually, New York based, called Dr Strange. Can you believe that? I mean, not that he's an occultist with a PhD or anything, we've got plenty of smart people on side, but the name, it's like going to a banker called Mr Green. Black, no sugar."

"So what's he like? Is this Doctor a strange guy?"

"I wouldn't know. Never met him. But he's _The Guy_ in New York. Every time I hear stories about The City, people who were there say his name in awe. Probably a glamor of some description, no one's that good."

Angela sat. "You hungry?"

"No."

"Me neither."

They sat quietly. Angela blew on her coffee to cool it. Constantine felt oddly content. It was rare he had a moment of calm like this.

"Pink elephants." Angela said.

"Hm?"

"Are we talking about it?"

"About...?"

"This. What's happening here? What happened yesterday? No discussion?"

"We're adults. Do we need to discuss it?"

Angela finally began to sip her coffee like a comfort blanket of warmth. "I'd like to."

"Listen, I'm not the kinda guy you're looking for. The one who's got a safe job and is never in trouble with the law and that's the guy you deserve. I can't commit to anyone. We're friends and I don't even like having people that close to me since..." Constantine's memory flashed up an image of Chaz, engrossed in a book and leaning against his car. "Even friends don't last long around me."

"So we're friends. This is a friends thing. Benefits."

"I'd like it to be. But it's your call." Constantine threw a hand in the air carelessly.

Angela nodded thoughtfully. "I'll think about it."

"So I was good?" Constantine grinned.

Angela laughed and put down her coffee. "Yes, you were good."

"Likewise."

Angela smiled and looked down to hide a slight blush. "You're so distant. It's like you live your life in another dimension, not this one. I'm feel like I'm friends with a time traveler."

"Professional necessity. A very powerful occultist is usually very... uptight. We have to keep our distance from people."

"Why?" Angela went for a refill.

"You know those people, that when they walk into a room, everyone's eyes kinda draw to them? And they get that inkling compulsion to go over and talk? And it's nothing to do with their attractiveness or their clothes, just some unexplainable attraction? Even seeing them walk. They call it charisma."

"Yeah. So what?"

"Well, that's a natural energy lure. When you work in the business for only a few years, you'll start to shine, on an auric level. We call it a beacon. Anyway, this usually has a thing we call a polar effect. People always have intense reactions to you. Love, or hate. But when the occultist in question cares for someone around them, even a little, the effect is compounded."

"Since the energy switches both ways. Like a gate." Angela motioned with her fingers.

"Yes. Like a gate. Exactly. When the charismatic individual has sex, they can cast a kind of natural love spell. It can last for months. With every time they sleep together, it reinforces."

"I thought that was brain chemicals."

"I have a theory it extends the shelf-life of those chemicals, yes. "

"Why's that a bad thing?" Angela leaned back onto her counter.

"Because it removes the idea of free will. Spell couples never work out well. You can never know for certain if the person you care about truly loves you, or if it's just a magnetism you've created by a delusional willpower. It's a sad truth that your own power can be your greatest enemy sometimes. And of course, that magnetism now applied to the poor person can attract all sorts of bad things into their life. Which binds them more to the person they think they love."

Angela looked concerned. "What about other stuff? Kissing?"

"Er, yeah you need to avoid kissing too. It can cause the same thing but on a lower intensity level. Which makes things build up to sex and it just gets so messy."

"Then why do you sleep around? I do hear things from other people, after they've seen me around you." She folded her arms.

"That's why I usually only sleep with people who aren't quite human. The effect is mitigated on them, dampened by a natural shield. Not to mention, sex between two people with the sight can be amazing. You probably hear the stories about Crowley's experiments into sex lucidity, right?"

"No." She shrugged.

"What? Oh, you're missing out!"

"I'll look it up."

"Oh, do. You won't regret it. Perhaps if you play your cards right, you'll get a few private lessons" he winked.


End file.
